


Sweet Tangerine

by TheDietElf



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: But I WANTED to Write A Sex Worker in Nuka World I Guess, F/F, F/M, Honestly Not Sure Where This Is Going, Prostitution, SS and OC are Not The Same Characters, Slavery, Slurs, Slut Shaming, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-30 05:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12647469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDietElf/pseuds/TheDietElf
Summary: A Prostitute. A Gang of Raiders. A Defector on the run. All set against the background of an endless cycle of cheerful soda jingles and gunshots. Is it an ouroboros, destined to be its own destruction? Or is the tremor of change closing in?





	1. A Little Bit of Sweetness

TW: Prostitution, Rape, Dubcon, Stockholm Syndrome, Abuse, Violence

 

It wasn’t as bad as the beatings, the cages. The  _ collars.  _

That’s what Cara told herself as Colter made an obscene grunt above her, pulling himself out from between her legs and spending himself all over her torso. She kept her eyes closed, head turned away so she wouldn’t have to see his face contort in pleasure. 

She knew what it looked like. High cheekbones against pale features, strong jaw, his dark hair shaved nearly bald. He might have been passably handsome, but his haughty ignorance and general brutishness were carved into his features so distinctly Cara thought him to be more neanderthal than man.

If they had to use her body from time to time, it made her valuable. She’d survive, she told herself. It was just sex.

Colter’s large, meaty hands were curled painfully around her hips--bruising against her tawny skin. She felt his cock twitch once more against her thigh, before it slowly began to soften.

_ If I’m useful, they won’t kill me.  _ Cara forced the disgust of her face as she felt cum trickling across her stomach. 

The Operators used her to make caps. Nearly every night, she sang at the Parlor for masses of gathered raiders. Providing a distraction to their listless days killing bloodworms or shooting at ghouls. The price to rent her body was one hundred and fifty caps, so it wasn’t too often she had to endure nights like tonight.

“Was it too much for you, baby?” Colter shifted, a calloused hand brushing her cheek. He sounded  _ so certain _ that he had been absolutely phenomenal. 

Cara forced a smile, ignoring his breath. Raised a hand to his face, “It always is, Handsome.” 

Colter leaned against her palm, his teeth bared as he leered down at her. 

“Damn right.” 

She rolled on to her side, reaching for a towel as the Overboss settled down on his back next to her. To be honest, he was an average john. That suited her just fine, it was easier to ignore the invasive ache if she hadn’t been stretched too far. 

Colter was snoring lightly within five minutes. 

Quietly, Cara slipped off the mattress and made her way across the hallway to her private bathroom. She was hugging the towel to her chest, shakily turning the knob to the shower, when there was a single courtesy knock before the door was pushed open.

“Good work,” William Black, co-leader of the Operators stepped in, closing the door quietly behind himself. He swept his gaze over her in mute appraisal, noting the bruises around her hips.   
“You won’t be obligated to take any personal calls again for the rest of this week.” William said. “We can’t have you too tired to perform onstage.”

“Of course, Sir.” Cara lowered her gaze to the floor. 

He left, quietly as he had entered, and Cara stepped into the uneven stream of lukewarm water.

She scrubbed her skin nearly raw, remembering the stench of sweat and the stale beer on the Overboss’ breath.

 

~!!~

 

Cara heard her own voice echoed back above the general din of clinking glasses and hooting as she crooned into the microphone in front of her. The heat of the tracklights above her highlighted the light sheen collected on her skin, drawing attention to her body in the backless gown she wore.

A swing of her hips as she sung flashed her thigh through the slit in the deep burgundy material. A brief shower of caps and more whooping came in response and she smiled, lips curving in a sultry, devilish portrait of the seductress. 

Raiders, men and women, projected their fantasies upon what they saw. Everything they wanted her to be was what they saw on stage. So Cara delivered because her status as an asset depended on it. The fever blossom in her hair added a lightly ethereal air to her.

“This way, Sweetheart!!” Howled a bare-chested man, the paint across his face marking him as one of the Pack.

Cara turned her gaze briefly to him, but caught sight of something different--off, maybe? A few tables back a lone man sat, eyes serious but very sober. Dark hair, thinning on top of his head, should have made him look more docile. It didn’t. 

“Well, it’s always good to know I am appreciated, my darling ruffians.” She purred, painted lips brushing against the mic. A lock of her auburn hair had escaped it’s complicated twist atop her head.

A riotous cheer rose from the gathered crowd, a few chairs crashing to the ground as one or two lept at the edge of the stage. Some of the working Operators ushered them back to their seats.

“Oh, honey, you know the drill,” Cara winked at the Pack member who had been forcibly reseated, “You can’t run up and interrupt the entertainment when the night is still young.”

As she started her next song, a wicked little tune about strangling a cheating husband to death, Cara chanced a look back in the stranger’s direction.

A Gwinnett stout was near his left hand, at his right sat a wicked looking .44 pistol. He looked grizzled, as if he had been on the road for quite awhile. The dark jacket he wore was dulled somewhat by a coating of dust. Just off the road? How did he make it past the Gauntlet?

Cara didn’t let herself get too distracted by her curiosity, and sung though the night, only having to press her heeled shoe against the forehead of one patron who managed to make it halfway onto the stage. He seemed to enjoy it, and she didn’t really let it bother her. Most of these desperate ones almost never saved enough caps to hire her for the night, and they usually resorted to fucking each other. 

“Thank you, you delectable Troublemakers! I’ll see you all tomorrow night.” 

One of the Operators stepped forward to give her a glass of water--while a few collared traders bent on stage to collect the caps that had been scattered. 

Cara took a seat at a table reserved for her, just off the side of the stage. Two large Operators stood in the way of any raider who felt the need to get closer without negotiating a purchase. She knew she could have just gone back to her private room for the night, as she had been excused from obliging any other private patrons. Honestly, she was still curious about the newcomer--and there was a chance one of her  _ good  _ customers might hire her for the night. 

She had a better view of the man, who now had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. His beard was scraggly, as if he hadn’t shaved in a few weeks, and from here she could just make out the nasty scar across his eye. One of the Disciples was talking to him, and while he responded, he didn’t seem wholly engrossed in the conversation.

Cara’s breath caught when his gaze suddenly leveled on her. There was a distinctive spark of danger in the air for less than a breath, before he broke the eye contact and continued his conversation. He reached into his coat to pull out a lighter, not once looking back.

“I’ll return to my room now.” She heard herself say faintly.

Standing, Cara walked ahead of her Operator bodyguards and hurried towards her room, past the backstage area. 

Whoever or whatever the man was--well. It wasn’t some  _ mystical  _ connection, that she knew. But she  _ did  _ find  _ something  _ about him attractive. Attempting to get to know him would at least give her something to keep her mind from focusing on her lack of a real future. And it  _ might  _ even be enjoyable.

Cara didn’t look down as a few of the collared traders focused their tight-lipped stares at her retreating back.

 

~!!~

 

She knew what they said, in whispers as she passed. 

_ Whore,  _ was among the nicest. 

Some of the collared traders-- _ slaves _ \--angry at their captors, watched her as if they felt sorry for what she was now. Others, whether envious at her cleverness, or just disgusted that she had seemingly  _ joined _ the raiders, watched her with open hostility and sneers. 

There were a few who followed her example. One, a very pretty young man of 19, named Jules and two other women; Dee and Marta. Cara, however, was the most successful as she could perform music onstage, and was often quiet coveted for her  _ private services _ .

It was in that way that Cara had managed to claim a position similar to a madame of a bordello. She watched carefully over those few others, who loaned their bodies out to the mercies of the raider clitentle. 

“Don’t pay any attention to what they say.” Jules said wearily, examining his rich umber skin in a cracked mirror.

“We’re doing what we do to survive, nothing more or less than they are. Collar or no.” Dee added, her gaunt features giving the impression of green eyes almost too large for her face.

Marta simply listened with a solemn expression, combing through her straight black hair with her fingers. The others fell into contemplative silence. 

None of them enjoyed what they did most of the time, but they  _ did  _ get to eat at least twice a day, and sleep in real beds. And when they could, they used their persuasive lips to whisper in the ears of those in charge.  _ Make sure my Mother is comfortable,  _ Marta would say.  _ Let my friend eat today,  _ Dee smiled. Jules simply wanted to survive long enough to someday see his family in the Commonwealth. 

Cara pulled at the zip on the back of her dress, dropping the garment to the floor around her ankles and checking over herself. The bruises Colter had left were all but healed, and the three others she had serviced since had been gentle in comparison.

She reached for a pair of scissors on the edge of the sink and took to trimming the curls around her sex.

“Baron’s got lice again, so I don’t recommend accepting his patronage.” Dee said, handing Cara a bottle of a mutfruit oil mixture.  

Cara rubbed some into her now shorn pubic hair.

“I am not sure that man is  _ ever  _ clean.” Cara replied airily, once she was satisfied with her work. 

Jules finished applying the very same oil to the dark of his chest hair, “If I had my way, he’d never get to touch any of us.” 

“I’ll be sure to let Mags know one of her patrons needs to learn some hygiene. They won’t make any caps if we get sick.” Cara crossed the room naked, searching for a nightgown in her marked set of the battered drawers.

Once dressed, she headed back toward her room barefoot, glad no one had booked her for the next two nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title are lyrics from the main title's song, Sweet Tangerine by The Hush Sound


	2. No One Can Here You Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from the song Hatefuck by The Bravery

The air inside The Parlor always felt sluggish and muggy during the noon hours. Cara, sprawled across the couch in her room, sighed feeling both restless and exhausted. She would not be allowed to walk around without an escort--not that there was anything but dust and bloodworms to see here. But her curiosity was still piqued by the new cigar chomping resident of the Operators’ group. 

Mags kept the newcomer--Connie, Conrad. No last name--at an arm's length. He was sharp, experienced, and dangerous. His bearing alone made that clear. 

Cara found despite the hollow look in his eyes, that she still found him oddly attractive. Perhaps it was his voice, she finally decided--baritone, smokey.

Still pondering, she pulled a few pins from her auburn hair and let it tumble in waves around her shoulders. The nearly sheer fabric of her dress flowed around her legs when she moved toward the door.

As she stepped out into the quiet hall, her bodyguard (watchdog) inclined his head and followed her into the main parlor. 

“Has that Conrad fellow been settling in?” Cara asked her guard with a flirty little smile, “I’m surprised he’s getting so much work for being so new.”

“The guy’s not some lowlife rookie,” He shrugged broad shoulders, but seemed a little miffed at the mention. “He’s got  merc experience at least. And is a damn good shot.”

“Oh, hon, I didn’t mean to put you out.” Cara reached out to stroke the guard’s arm consolingly. “You’ve always been very good at your job too.”

That seemed to relax him and his lips twitched. He was almost smiling when he spoke again.

“Well, I mean, I ain’t kidding. That new merc Connie’s practically a damn reaper.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Cara turned smoothly toward the smoke and whiskey sound of Conrad’s voice, crossing her arms and cocking her hip to the side.

The merc raised an eyebrow at her, assessing. Crossed his arms, “Did you need something or were you just gossiping?”

“I have a some time before I perform tonight. And I’m a bit curious about you.” Cara let her eyes linger briefly on the scar across his face, though she didn’t ask. “Is that a crime now?”

“Cute.” He said, dismissing her slightly exaggerated pout and walking over to sit at a table.

“Honestly, It’s not like I  have much to keep me occupied until this evening. Can’t a gal be a little curious?”

“The airheaded act really doesn’t suit you, Sweetheart.” He lit a cigar and stared at her. 

Cara suddenly felt that chill, dangerous air between them again, but bit back her nerves and took a seat at his table.

“I was being honest about being curious.”

“That so?” 

Their eyes stayed locked, and she felt him sizing her up. Her heart skipped a few beats at the unwavering intensity. Briefly, she wondered if he wore a similar expression in the bedroom.

“A woman like you could bat her eyes at any raider in this park. What’s so interesting about some dusty old mercenary?”

Cara felt like she could finally break eye contact. She ended up staring at his mouth while he spoke, watching smoke trail past his lips and teeth. Why? It was hard to explain.

“Mmm… Maybe it’s that odd spark of real danger that trails behind you. Maybe it’s just boredom and you are new blood around here.” She shrugged, leaned forward, the strap of her dress slipping down her shoulder, “Maybe I got the impression you were smarter than the little boys around here. All of them thinking their balls are the biggest, most impressive thing I’ve ever seen--and then it’s my  _ job  _ to pretend to agree with their delusional little fantasies.”

Conrad let out a chuckle at that, and Cara smiled a little in response.

Behind them, her guard shifted a little, uncomfortably, but said nothing.

“Well, that, and your voice is very sexy.”

He didn’t look taken aback, but the man seemed to be weighing new possibilities with an interested light in his eyes. Deliberately, he set his cigar in the ashtray on the table.

Cara’s lips parted a little in surprise as Conrad half-stood, leaning forward on the small table toward her. With his mouth near the side of her face he exhaled a little before speaking with the faintest hint of roughness.

“Sounds like something I might be interested in pursuing sometime.” 

Very lightly, his fingers traced against her shoulder as he fixed her dress strap for her. The touch left goosebumps against her skin.

Conrad stood, squaring his shoulders a bit and taking his cigar, leaving Cara surrounded by the haze of smoke and smell of gun oil that lingered on him. 

 

~!!~

 

If there was anything to say about sex with Porter Gage, it was that it was at least always passably enjoyable. For one thing, he actually knew where a woman’s clit was--which was why at the moment the breathy noises she was making were  _ real  _ ones. He watched her writhe against his calloused fingers with a lustful, laser-like focus that made Cara want to push him down and slip him inside of her. 

Gage sunk his teeth into her breast, hard enough to bruise.

“Oh-- _ Gage! _ ”

That little spark of pain sent a flash down her spine, and had her pushing against his hand needily.

She felt his self-satisfied smile against her skin and wanted to be more upset but his fingers really made that impossible. Especially when he pushed two into her cunt.

“Y-you sonova--ah-- _ god… _ ” Cara dropped her head against the pillow, sweat glistening against her forehead.

Anything else she might have said was muffled as he shifted and stuffed his tongue into her mouth. Gage was one of the few customers who seemed to enjoy kissing (even if it was sloppy)--and also one of the even fewer who managed to get Cara to scream his name. She’d resent him for it later. She always did.

Vision swaying, from lack of air or from pleasure she wasn’t sure, Cara gasped as he broke the kiss to seize her lower lip with his teeth.

There was a needy ache inside of her as he withdrew his fingers.

“Too much for you already, Princess?” Gage teased, before pushing between her legs and unceremoniously rutting against her, “...haven’t even started fucking you yet.”

A moment or two of fumbling, and he stuffed his girth inside of her with a ruthless thrust that made her whole body ache as she adjusted. The next appointment of the night was going to hurt.

 

~!!~

 

Gage stood just outside the Parlor, smoking a cigarette as Cara’s singing drifted out the door, passed him, and scattered faintly into the night air. He took a longer drag, feeling a relaxed sort of heaviness. Something about knowing how much she hated swallowing his load always made him chuckle.

 

“It tastes disgusting, Gage.” She’d said afterwards, trying to drown the flavor with a nuka-cherry. 

He had lazily brushed his thumb down the edge of her chin, where some of his cum was still dripping, “Funny that you’re always so honest about how you feel about me.” The raider’s voice was thick and slurred with post-coital bliss. 

“It’s because you seem to appreciate it.” Cara snapped in annoyance, “And how do you  _ always  _ manage to get your damn jizz in my hair?”

“Talent...” Gage replied sluggishly. 

 

Cara’d sometimes get so pissed at him she’d actually slap him. 

Gage exhaled smoke, laughing to himself halfway through. It was almost like being  _ friends _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going. Smut is difficult to write well, and dialogue is worse. Cara's character is really growing on me as I write her. I'll try to make the next chapters longer but this one felt done after a fairly short jaunt.


End file.
